


Little Glances

by the_gayest_geek



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fluff, I just want them to be happy, M/M, not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26354743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_gayest_geek/pseuds/the_gayest_geek
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are traveling companions. Geralt slays monsters and Jaskier sings of his adventures.They are traveling companions, but more often than he will admit, Geralt watches Jaskier. Watches him sing, mostly.They are traveling companions, but Jaskier worries maybe more than he should every time Geralt goes off alone to fight another terrible beast.They travel together, but they are also companions, inseparably tangled and interwoven into each other's lives.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	1. Geralt

Geralt watched Jaskier often, though he would never admit it. He snuck looks while the bard was occupied, usually with his music, as he polished his sword, set up camp, cleaned guts off his armor, or downed a beer after a long hunt.

Most always the bard did not catch him. He attributed this to both his tuned reflexes allowing him to look away quickly as well as the bards tendency to be completely enraptured by his own music.

It was midday, and close to the height of summer. They had stopped so that Roach could get a drink and some rest in the shade from the burning sun. Jaskier was quite happy that a break for Roach also meant a break so be a drink for him.

So while Geralt filled their water skins and pulled out one of his swords for some maintenance, Jaskier plopped down against a nearby tree and pulled out his lute.

The song he played was beautiful. This wasn't a surprise, though. Jaskier's music was always beautiful.

(Once Jaskier was convinced Geralt had grunted at him in a particularly dismissive way. Or something along those lines. In retribution, the bard had tried to annoy the witcher with a particularly badly sung ditty. It was stupid, the lyrics were about nothing but his annoyance, and the tune was by no means up to his usual standards.

But even in his attempt to be shrill and annoying, the true melodic beauty of his voice and playing shone through.)

Today Jaskier was not singing to annoy. Geralt did not know why the bard sang, but today it was for whatever reason he was a bard at all. The reasoning was probably something quite poetic, from the soul or something, but Geralt was no poet.

He pulled the cloth along the length of the blade. Jaskier's voice carried lyrics, this time not about Geralt's adventures, but about a sunset. It wasn't one he performed, so it was either a spur of the moment or a more personal piece. He went through a lot of fine tuning to the songs he performed, and the ones that didn't fit a motif or he couldn't change in just the right way he would abandon entirely.

Geralt was always surprised when he realized he knew something about the bard's music. Before they were travelling together he barely even listened to music.

But then again he was almost more surprised when Jaskier recognized a monster or knew how to kill it. A wonder what traveling companions learned about each other's professions. About each other, even.

"Geralt? Are you okay?"

The music had stopped playing. Jaskier was looking at him. He looked a bit worried.

Geralt had been staring. Worse - he had been caught staring.

Geralt grunted and turned back to his sword.

"Really, you big oaf? I did ask a question. Generally in civilized conversation between two parties one will ask a question and the other will answer. You know, with words." Jaskier had put down his lute and started gesturing with his hands.

Geralt ignored him. He would likely ramble on for a bit longer and then it would be time to hit the road again. Perhaps he should take stock before they left, but also he didn't want to hold up there travel for too long.

"I get more responses out of Roach, I swear." The bard turned to face the horse. "Roach, dear, I'm going to ask you a question. You see, I have this theory that even though you are a horse, you will talk to me more than our dear witcher over there.

Roach, do you think Geralt should get the stick that is currently up his ass out so that he can compliment my oh so lovely singing one of these days?"

The horse did a sort of snort that horses are known to do.

Geralt looked out of the corner of his eye to see Jaskier's face light up.

"Haha! Victory to the bard! A horse officially has given me more enlightening conversation than our resident witcher!"

He was doing a little dance at this point, jumping his feet around in a ridiculous manner. Geralt didn't point out that the horse only snorted, which he did plenty at Jaskier's endless chatter.

Jaskier ends his dance and seems to calm a bit. Geralt expects him to sit back down against his tree and probably start on about some random and meaningless topic. Like a flower they passed a few hours before. Or perhaps his opinions on some other bard Geralt had never heard of.

Instead, still smiling from his previous self acclaimed victory, Jaskier plops down next to Geralt. He is too close already, but he leans in closer before talking.

"Geralt?"

The witcher glances at him. Jaskier is staring right into his eyes. So he turns back to his sword and grunts.

"Do you enjoy my music?"

It caught him off guard. His hand doesn't stop it's methodic motion across the blade, but it is a close thing.

The answer, of course, is yes.

The answer is 'Your music is the only thing that calms my soul. It is beautiful and haunting and comforting and familiar all at once. It makes me feel when the world has convinced me I cannot. It is meaningful in a way I didn't think possible, and somehow I don't think my heart is so attached to the lyrics or the chords or the melody, but to you-'

Geralt doesn't look up. He grunts.

A warm body presses against his. Jaskier leans his head on his shoulder.

Geralt freezes. His hand stops, and his whole body goes still.

"It's okay," Jaskier says, oh so softly. "You don't have to have the words yet. We have all the time in the world."

It feels like a dream. It feels like they could stay this way forever. The breeze softly sways the leaves above. The sun is filtered through them, casting a warm glow on everything. The creek babbles next to them, and the sun reflects off of gentle rippling currents.

Geralt is not a poet. But if he were, this would be what he would write of.


	2. Jaskier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in as many nights? You madwoman, what are you doing? I don't know, but I hope y'all like this one too!

Jaskier sang pretty words day and night. It was his job as well as his passion. His hours were spent making the bloody adventures of the White Wolf into fun and palatable tunes for the common man.

He was a poet through and through, and this suited him well. In his hands monsters became trials, Witchers became heroes. He could mold molehills into mountains or mountains into rolling hills. The world was his to mold with pretty words and a tune.

Most all the time, he loved what he did. He wouldn't change it for the world.

But sometimes he would be rambling or singing or pacing and he would see Geralt out of the corner of his eye. Jaskier would be going a million miles an hour and there would be Geralt, still as a rock. He looked out at a sunset, and the orange light bathed his face.

It looked like his whole world was that sunset. Like he was thinking of nothing but the beauty of the moment.

A moment the bard would have missed if not for him.

Jaskier doesn't sit down next to him then. He wants to, but it isn't the right time or moment. This does not involve him. Just the witcher and the end of a day. A sun dissolving into stars.

Taverns are first and foremost the comfort of a bed and if they're lucky a hot bath. But secondly they are a source of income.

Geralt asks the barkeep for any sign of a monster in need of slaying, and Jaskier pulls out his lute.

On good nights, the bar is filled with an audience for his performance. He gets up on tables, people sing and cheer, beer gets spilled and he is surrounded by smiles. The coin is good on these nights, but that's not what makes them so good.

He doesn't like to talk about bad nights. Sometimes it's just disappointing. Sometimes it's worse. Humiliating, deflating, frustrating, whatever. They don't feel good.

Almost every night, though, good crowd or bad, he goes up the stairs or down the hall or whatever into their room for the night. Usually they have two twin beds, but sometimes it's cheaper to get one. Neither of them mind sleeping together.

Unless Geralt's really cheaped out and it's one smaller bed for both of them to share. He's too large to share those beds comfortably! And he moves in his sleep!

But being elbowed off a ridiculously small bed aside, neither mind sharing a sleeping space with the other. When they camped in the wilderness, Geralt would position himself at Jaskier's back, as if instinctively protecting his blind side.

When they slept in the bed together he would do the same, sometimes wordlessly rolling Jaskier to the other side when he needed to be on that side to be between Jaskier's back and the door. When they slept in separate beds Jaskier noticed he still always slept facing the door with his swords nearby.

That evening they had come to an inn much like countless other inns they had stayed in before. They went about their routine. Geralt paid, but Jaskier sweet talked the barmaid enough to be less intimidated by the witcher's towering figure. She was smiling by the end, so he assumed she would answer any of Geralt's questions well enough without him playing grunt translator.

He went to find a comfortable seat to warm up in. There weren't many people there yet, but he had a feeling there would be at least a modest crowd once the sun fully set.

He was just plucking strings, vaguely humming, when Geralt walked over and leans in.

"It sounds like they've got a kikimora. Going tonight because it sounds like it's getting bold. I'll be back before dawn." He talks low and close to his ear. No one else in the bar needs to know of a witcher's plans.

Jaskier simply nods. Normally Geralt waited to fight kikimora until daylight, but if there was a chance it would stray out of its habitat and hurt one of the villagers, he had to act fast. They were no small beast by any means, especially to the average man, but Geralt had taken care of dozens before. 

So logically Jaskier shouldn't be worried.

Jaskier always worries.

But he plays to the tavern as normal. He was right about a good crowd, the room fills up quickly. The beer flows freely, and spirits are high. People sing along with the better known ballads, coins are tossed and smiles are aplenty.

By Jaskier's standards it should be a nearly perfect night.

But he goes to the room Geralt bought for them after a night of singing and playing. This one has two beds. There was a pack Jaskier recognized as Geralt's against the bed against the left wall. Jaskier's pack leaned against the right.

He hadn't brought it to the room, nor did he hand it off to Geralt. He was pretty sure he'd left it next to the bar, which meant the witcher had noticed and brought it in with his own bags.

Jaskier closed the door behind him and laid his lute next to his pack against the bed.

The bed was a bit stiff and made a sort of thump sound when Jaskier fell face-first into it. He didn't bother changing or any of his usual night routine. For a while he just lied there.

The room felt too empty. Too big.

He felt alone. And he knew he was being dramatic, because even if Geralt was here he wouldn't be saying anything, and it would be just as quiet but -

Jaskier wasn't sure what that 'but' was. But he enjoyed the witcher's company? But he miss -

A loud thunk sound outside the door interrupted his spiraling thought process. Good, he didn't want to go down that rabbit hole.

He doesn't get up particularly quickly, it's probably just some drunk running into things, but he goes to check the door anyways.

The door opens to a passed out and bloody witcher on the floor.

"Geralt! Holy shit!"

He tried to pull him into the room as best he could by hooking his arms underneath the larger man's armpits.

"Dear God, Geralt, couldn't lose a couple of pounds? You know I usually love the brick house physique but in this particular situation it -" He had to stop talking to put all his strength into the last few tugs to get him fully into the room.

Once he'd closed the door, he went back to Geralt's side and rolled him so that his face was at least partially facing up.

"Geralt?" He slapped the witcher's cheek. "Geralt your kind of scaring me here." He shook him. "C'mon, wake up, I need you to tell me which one of your potions to use.

Geralt please - I can't help you if you don't wake up you big oaf!"

Jaskier was yelling at him now, shaking him hard.

The witcher groaned.

"Yes! Wake up Geralt - tell me what happened!"

His head started to lull again and Jaskier slapped him.

Another groan and furrowed brows. "Gila ... poison ..."

Jaskier racked through his memory. They'd traveled together long enough - he could get this.

Gila were small and lizard-like. Even though they travel in packs, they weren't a huge problem on their own - only problem was they liked to eat a certain type of flea-like bug off of several other monsters. So if you didn't notice them, that's when their poison bite got you.

Jaskier pulled at Geralt's bag. His general antitoxin would do, but was it the light blue or the teal?

Panicked memories were desperately sorted through in seconds - light blue!

He pulled out the bottle, propped Geralt's head on his knee, and held his mouth open as he poured the potion in.

"Please, Geralt..." He didn't even care how small and desperate his voice sounded in that moment.


End file.
